Bodies All Around
by Kaiakara
Summary: Valjean is injured by Toulon guardsmen and Javert comes to his rescue, much to his confusion. WARNING: SLASH UNDERTONES!


**A/N: Been working on and off on this for about a week. Like the way it turned out. Originally it was meant to go down a different path, but the muse takes us strange places. Enjoy.**

He hit the ground with a thud, grunting and groaning as he tried to curl into a ball. His whole body hurt all over. Each day got worse, each day the abuse was more terrible. The cold metal cell around him said nothing, no words of comfort, for his broken body. Slowly, breath hissing out from between his teeth, he pushed his broken and bruised body into a sitting position and spat out a clump of blood, wincing at the unsavory sound of it hitting the floor.

The prison wardens had beaten him again.

Every day it was the same. They blamed him for all the problems around Toulon--especially since he was the only prisoner to ever try to escape--and three or four of them would corner him. Then one after another they would take turns holding him (for there was the small matter that he was stronger than them all) and beating him to a pulp. He was lucky that he was yet to loose a tooth, but who knew when that would happen. Outside the barred door to his single cell voices echoed off the walls, and abruptly stopped, catching mid sentence, when the police officers heard the easily recognizable clip of perfectly polished boots, the swish of a perfectly pressed uniform.

It was the gypsy.

Valjean shuddered, rolling his eyes, not feeling like dealing with the head warden just then. The gypsy had only been at Toulon for three years, and already his extreme competence and smarts had brought him to the top. The old prisoner was proud of the fact that he had known it from the moment the Inspector had walked in the door.

"Gentlemen." His soft voice echoed down the hall, and the officers who had so recently been using Jean Valjean as a punching bag and stepped into hasty salutes. The Chief Warden did not shirk on regulations. Having had all of Toulon under him for less than a year, already the conditions had gotten considerably better. He gave punishments to those who deserved them--not just prisoners. He in no way made friends with the convicts (in fact, it was commonly known that he and Valjean hated each other with a burning passion) but he wanted to be fair. He was fair. That was all that he was going to say about the cocky young bastard. "I trust there have been no problems?" The gypsy tried to keep his voice level, and rarely brought it beyond a conversational tone unless he got really angry.

Which had only happened once or twice. He did not have a short temper.

"Nope." The officer who had just given Valjean his already shining black eye said, chuckling. "Not even from 24601." The most troublesome prisoner in Toulon Quarry. That was him. "He's been quiet since we threw him in there."

There was the clip of bootheels, and the officer gasped as something happened. Interested now, Valjean sat up and crawled closer to the door, peering out through the crack at the bottom of the door, in too much pain to stand up. What was going on?

The shadows were pressed against his wall, and the taller one obviously had to belong to the gypsy. He was the tallest man at Toulon, and although Valjean had the build of a tank, the young officer was no weakling.

"I trust that the reason he has been quiet for the past three minutes is that you were just abusing your powers by brawling against him, four to one, while holding his arms down?" Valjean blinked. Was that a good thing or a bad thing that had just been said?

"Well, sir, not 'sactly--" The particular boy who had given him the black eye was from England. He spoke French with an outrageous accent. He yelped in pain.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly?' I have been watching the four of you for the past month and you always do the exact same thing every night. I will not tolerate it in my prison!" The officer that the gypsy had been holding gasped as whatever pain was being done to him stopped, and stumbled, thudding to the ground. "As of now, the four of you are to go and get your things. You will find a letter of recommendation from me in each of your bags--which are packed. Never enter Toulon prison again." He spoke with such conviction that the four men started to scuttle away, terrified.

Well, Valjean decided, if the gypsy had just said that to him he would have been scared.

"Move aside, 24601. I am going to open the door." Valjean blinked.

"What?"

"I said, move back." He sounded exasperated, even though his face was impossible to see for the convict. "I don't want to be getting this prison a reputation as an abusive place--"

"Not like it doesn't have one already."

"24601, as I was saying before you interrupted me with that sarcastic and completely unneeded comment, I will not be allowing my prisoners to be wounded by my officers. I have a first aid kit, so move back." Reluctantly, Valjean scooted back, hissing in pain at the unforgiving cold stone of the floor. The cell door swung open, revealing the bear-like form of Chief Warden Javert, dark skin made darker by the shadow from the gaslight in the hall, and sandy hair glowing. He closed the door behind him, which made Valjean sigh in relief. The light was bright against his pounding head.

What they had done to him earlier was the worst yet.

Javert knelt on the floor beside the convict, bangs flopping into his eyes. The Inspector made a mental note to himself to clip them soon, before they started to get in his way. But there was no time to think about that now. He leaned over the old convict and checked that the black eye was nothing more, but the barest touch of the Inspector's hands made Valjean twitch and groan in pain, covering his face with his hands.

"Don't touch it!" He yelled, and Javert jumped back, startled.

"You don't have to yell!" Valjean glared out at the younger man from behind his hands, brown eyes narrowed.

"That _hurts."_ he hissed softly, and Javert almost rolled his eyes. 24601 infuriated him enough already, but why could he not be at least somewhat respectful while he was trying to help him!

"It will hurt more unless you let me look at it." The Inspector hissed back, glaring down the bridge of his nose, and the older man slowly removed his hands to allow his captor to look. Once the gypsy was satisfied, he moved away, opening the small first aid kit. "Take off your shirt and let me look at the broken rib." Valjean was surprised that Javert had figured out.

"How did you know?"

"Your breathing is too labored to be resting." Was the terse response. "Now take off your shirt."

"No."

Slowly, green eyes as unreadable as brick looked up, locking with adamant brown. "Take. It. Off."

"No!"

"I'm going to do it for you." Valjean stopped mid retort, eyes widening and mouth falling open slightly in surprise.

"You would not."

Javert stopped messing with the small healing instruments, and leaned forward to give the prisoner the full force of his almost legendary (at least around Toulon) glare. "24601, a broken rib could puncture your lung and then where would I be? I cannot be carting out dead bodies of my prisoners and say that an untreated broken rib killed them."

"You could." Valjean was sure in his position of refusing to give in about removing the shirt.

"Ah, but what would I say when they asked me how the rib got broken in the first place?" A sandy eyebrow raised against dark skin, the contrast plain. "That would not be a comfortable position for either of us, I can assure you." Valjean saw the logic there, and unwillingly moved his hands to his sides, tugging up the bottom of his shirt and hissing at the motion.

_"Oh god."_ he whispered in pain at the bending of his broken rib. Javert made a noise than in anyone else would have been called an exasperated huff, but instead of complaining grabbed Valjean's hands and tugged them roughly upward, exposing his chest. A dark purple bruise showed on his pale skin there, turning yellow. The convict risked a look down and nearly gagged at the sight of his broken rib and bruised side. The Inspector gave an exasperated noise and leaned forward, checking the bruise.

"May as well bind that, I suppose." he said, and pulled out a long strip of cloth, reaching behind the older man's back and wrapping the cloth tightly around his chest.

"Hell, that hurts!" Valjean yelped unhappily, struggling and only finding himself in more pain. Hissing, the old man stilled and let the Inspector's large hands finishing wrapping the cloth around him. Miraculously, the broken rib began to feel better. Javert sat back on his heels and watched the convict with a calculating eye.

"Anything else?" Valjean rubbed his jaw in thought as he took stock of his body to answer the Inspector's question.

"That seems to be the worst of it." he said softly, trying to keep pressure off of his hurt bone, but Javert knew it was a lie. Still, the Inspector took the hint that his presence was no longer wanted and packed away the few first aid supplies he had and stood, towering over where Valjean sat sprawled.

"You will not need to go out into the quarries until that heals," Javert said, and turned to leave.

"Wait." the gypsy stopped, hand poised above the locked door, key halfway inserted into it. He looked back over his shoulder to where the old man sat. "Would you have done this for anyone but me?" Valjean asked softly, and the briefest flash of something unnameable in Javert's eyes was the immediate response.

"What...do you mean?"

"Would you let any of the other prisoners off of quarry duty, help them heal, stand up for them?"

"It's my job to make sure no prisoner gets hurt unfairly." Javert said, sidestepping the question, and Valjean huffed in exasperation.

"No. You stood up for me more than you had to, and you know it. Now answer the question you cocky bastard." Valjean rarely swore, but he wanted to know what the Inspector was thinking. What had come over his usually cold and emotionless adversary to help him like this?

"I will be the one to kill you someday, not those disgusting pieces of street shit that call themselves guards." Javert finally said, and stepped out, the door shutting with a click. He left his prime enemy in a daze, and Valjean looked down at his hands in surprise. What had that meant? He and Javert had never gotten along at all, yes, but the animosity between the two of them was not so complete. Was it?

"If I ever get out of here, I had better watch my back." he said to the cold cell, and quiet agreement was his answer.


End file.
